Final Call

The humdrum of the lounge fills the ears as the world around makes it way, not bothering about - though at the same time caring enough not to interrupt - the caressing of auditory signals against the earlobe that want to swim into the mind and pronounce themselves distinct within it. As the consciousness fades into the semi-sphere of wake and vision recedes from the front eyes, the smooth unbroken fabric of the blue or red-dyed chair relaxes a bit more under, taking the shape of the posterior and hoping to seduce another few hours’ sleep from someone it is happy is only half the average weight.

But in another galaxy not far away, the u-boats of the voiceful opposition reach the shores of mental comprehension and various units of intelligence disembark in order to mount an offensive against the motor neurons of relaxation in their quest to capture the hill of attention and wave the flag of logic. After an endless - which is defined by science as a couple of minutes - battery assault combining weapons of chemical stimulation and analogue sensory bombardment, the invading forces manage to overrun the field of thought and flip the lever of activity from dormant to operational, and so are granted autonomy of the moment by way of waking up into the world once more and lifting a sleepy eyelid at the airport clock.

After an eternal - which is defined by science as a nanosecond - jolt no further persuasion is required when you realize the coma of pleasure has extended hours beyond its original timeframe and you have shifted, rather involuntarily, into a different time zone in the exact same location. Shifting gears manually in the body command center, suddenly the left and right extensions of the body – which science prefers to call hands and legs – are mobilised in an incredible feat of power, with the hands and legs protruding outward and rotating upward in conjunction with other internal structure beams. As the earth readies to be tested with a rapidly increasing amount of weight, the chair sighs, reversing the position of fabric from sagging to being lifted by the air that floats between the spaces in the foam. The next one will be a biggie.

As shoe soles squeak on marble you realise you've overslept after work.  

The airport chair next to the coffee machine sits three floors above the runway below where four wheels rolling on the small side-road hoist the body and soul of a staff shuttle bus that chugs along to the driving symmetry of the airport staff. The bus coughs slightly as the axle changes the direction of the vehicle to include a curbside carstop in the roster - which is defined by management as a schedule - of locations it will have to pay a visit to. Returning to the third floor, the visual gaze flinches in the style of demured alertness, and so the audio inlets on either side of the face compensate for the delay in receiving the “show and tell” of the world.

You realise the soft and pleasant-to-hear woman's voice announcing the final call of a flight is what has been trying to enter your mind ever since you slumped across that chair. The politeness is unmistakeable as her voice, like a chocolate bar to the tongue, encourages travellers to make haste toward their departing swoops in the air like a spiritual leader calls toward the embellishment of religion and practice of prayer. The matter is brought to a satisfactory end of play and you swing your bag across your shoulders, flat-footing towards your share of the city's four walled clearances of indulgence, comprehending she was just trying to tell you nicely - which is defined by humanity as kindness - not to miss your own final call for the walk back home.  

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